


Namesake

by Tsume_Yuki



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Rigel Black Chronicles - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Gen, Kid Fic, Semi-Crack FIc, Time Travel, the idea wouldn't leave me alone okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:20:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27673252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsume_Yuki/pseuds/Tsume_Yuki
Summary: But that’s the final thing Caelum needs to put it together and he can’t subdue the sharp bark of disbelieving laughter before it’s already escaped.Well fuck. He can only think of one person who’d happily name their children after potioneers. Especially those particular potioneers.
Relationships: Harry Potter | RIgel Black/Caelum Lestrange, Harry Potter | Rigel Black & Caelum Lestrange
Comments: 90
Kudos: 458
Collections: Rigel Black Exchange Round 2





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tamari](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tamari/gifts).



> I wrote 'The Greatest Potions Master in History' for Tamari and this idea started simmering in the back of my mind and it's just delightful crack now. Enjoy.

The fairy wine is as sweet as ever on his tongue, vanishing the moment it kisses up against the back of his throat.

Standing off to the side of the razzle and dazzle that has overtaken the usual solemnity of Dartmoor, Caelum Lestrange looks out over the crowds that have gathered and wonders what on earth possessed his mother to volunteer the Lestrange castle for this year’s summer fundraiser.

Quite frankly, he truly believes he speaks for everyone when he states that the Lestranges are not friendly. For Caelum, this is a conscious choice he had made from a relatively early age; people laughed and lied, they smiled saccharine sweet as they plotted how best to drive a metaphorical knife into your back. Friendships could be torn apart by a whispered word or perceived slight, blood ties only worked so long as the surnames matched up (and even then, sometimes that’s not enough to save you). No, Caelum had chosen at an early age to not even try, to make it explicitly clear that he didn’t have time for the show and dance of socialising. If people truly wanted something from him, they better be ready for the fight necessary to attain it.

Bellatrix and Rodolphus on the other hand... Caelum doesn’t know if his parents are actually aware of how people regard them. He doesn’t know if they realise the pussyfooting around by those in the Party is due to Bellatrix’s hairline temper, or Rodolphus’ surliness. He doesn’t know if they realise how they are looked upon with the way they both regard Riddle as if he’s the second coming of Merlin. And speaking of—

Caelum eyes the SOW Party leader warily and never more than second or two; the bastard’s like a fucking eagle or something with how quickly he can zone in on someone staring. No, wait. More like a basilisk. The intent in his gaze is probably as deadly.

Scowling, Caelum tips back the glass, knocking the last of the fairy wine to the back of his throat where it disappears like the rest. None of his year mates dare to try conversing with him when he has the home advantage and he doesn’t feel like meandering over to one of the herds to insert himself into whatever lacklustre discussion they’re having. Quite frankly, he’s far more focused on showcasing the fact he’s damn well earned his mastery and, by fuck, the only person he’d spend his time willing talking to isn’t here because she went and got herself fucking blacklisted. Yeah, it was totally deserved and, yeah, it took him two fucking years to decide it was even worth speaking to her again, but fuck it. Having a peer with shared interests is an indulgence he’s not going to let go of.

He just, needs to keep his head down; if Lord Riddle (or, Merlin forbid, his mother) even so much as gets a whiff of the fact he’s still meeting up with and talking to persona non grata... well, it’s not a decision he’s made for Potter’s safety; he knows she can tangle with Riddle and get back up again. They’d all seen it, broadcasted on those stupid screens that’d shot Riddle in the foot at the end of it all. That Potter’d even gotten away– no. He’s not going down this rabbit hole again. Not now when he needs his wits about him.

The point of it all is that the Lestrange Family are about as unfriendly as you can get. They’re also too fucking proud, as shown by how hard Bellatrix has tried to outdo Lady Malfoy. Sure, everything is physically perfect, all the technical details are right, but the atmosphere is... missing. Not yet stifled, but it soon will be.

Caelum calls for another glass.

It won’t be long until he can slip out, that much is clear. Half of the adults are well on their way to drunk, if they’ve not stumbled across the line already. His mother is once again making a fool of herself, panting after Riddle who still simmers with barely concealed rage. All from not getting to tear Potter to pieces. She’d handed herself publicly over to the authorities the moment it was safe to do so. Riddle couldn’t justifiably take his vengeance out on her when the law had already decided upon a punishment.

Now, Lord Potter escorts her everywhere and, while Caelum doesn’t doubt Riddle could pick off the Head Auror if he wanted to, he doubts the man could manage it while taking out Potter herself at the same time. Clearly the SOW Party leader believes so too, as he’s yet to take a pot shot at her. Yet.

Rookwood goes spinning past with his pregnant bride and Caelum eyes them warily. Everyone else does too; they’re a young pureblood couple and, given all the information that has anonymously flooded into the British Wizarding World regarding the Fade... well, all eyes are on the pair to see the outcome. Even Caelum, who truly couldn’t care less, is watching. Waiting.

It’s why he misses the elbow that slams into his side and winds him.

Had he the breath for it, he’d have gasped out a ‘fuck’. As things stand, all he manages is dropping his glass and half folding in on himself. Thank fuck he’s near the outskirts of the ballroom, though that doesn’t stop Riddle and Bellatrix’s gaze both snapping over to zone in on him. Of course she can suddenly go sober when he’s made a perceived wrong that could potentially ruin her night hosting Riddle. Never mind that it’s not his fault to begin with.

“Shit!” a voice hisses beside him and Caelum looks up, only to find his own face staring back at him.

It’s not really his face. It’s close, but there are a few differences. Not enough to hide the fact the kid is most certainly a Lestrange. And the other one too.

Now in an antechamber off to the side of the ballroom, Caelum stares at the first kid who shares an uncomfortable look with his clone before they both stare back at him. Bellatrix is there too, glaring hard at him but it’s not like she can blame him for this. If he had a bastard child (bastard twins), there’s no way they’d be at Hogwarts age. He’s not old enough for them to be his and Caelum’s relatively certain the only reason his father’s still breathing is because they undoubtedly have Bellatrix’s thick black curls atop their head.

That and Dartmoor’s magic is welcoming them, swirling around them protectively in the same way it only ever does with family. Main family, not branch family and certainly not bastards.

The moment one of them mentions a time-turner, Caelum almost wants to scream. Almost. Because time-turners only go backwards which means—

“Caelum’s children,” Bellatrix purrs, sizing the two boys up. They, in turn, size her up too, posture wary. Good instincts.

From where he’s seated upon one of the grand armchairs, Lord Riddle lifts a single brow, inspecting the duo and Caelum blatantly refuses to straighten up. He hasn’t even gotten around to making these kids in the present, he sure as fuck isn’t going to feel judged by whatever conclusions Riddle comes to.

Two children. Fuck. He only wants the required one to carry on the family name. Typical he’d end up with twins. Admittedly, they aren’t idiots from what he’s seen so far; clearly he can’t have ended up begrudgingly married to a simpleton. They look way too much like him to be able to pick out what other family half of their genetics have come from, though there is something about the stubborn set of their mouths that is familiar. It’s certainly not his smile they’ve got; it’s too easy going, too... almost friendly to be his mouth. And there’s something familiar about it. He just can’t quite put his wand on it.

“When do you return?” That’s Rodolphus, as grumpy and growly as always. The two boys eye him for a moment, equally suspicious as the other (again, good instincts) before the one on the left speaks.

“It was a seven-day time-turner, so chances are good it’ll be a week.”

“But we may have sped it along,” the other one helpfully cuts in, sharing an amused glance with the other who gives a slow, agreeing nod.

“We may have sped the time up,” he repeats, running his hand through his hair and Caelum swears he’s seen that action from someone else. He just can’t put a label to the potion and it’s infuriating, aggravatingly just out of his grasp. Then, the same twin continues with a cool admittance of, “on the same vein, would may have also slowed it down too.”

So, they have no idea in the slightest. Marvellous.

“Your names?” Lord Riddle asks, eyeing the two of them with something that is almost triumphant shimmering in his dark eyes. It makes the hairs on Caelum’s neck stand on end.

Proving for the third time that they have excellent instincts, both boys eye Riddle like he’s the biggest threat in the room. They’ve got their wands in their hands and— a knife. They’ve got a dagger each and both are clearly well used to handling the blades. They’re not even held in a potioneer’s grip either.

It feels like he has all the ingredients to a familiar recipe and he just can’t put a name to the potion. It’s infuriating.

“Menesthes and Zosimo,” the one with the cool tone states, flicking his finger at the other twin for the second name. But that’s the final thing Caelum needs to put it together and he can’t subdue the sharp bark of disbelieving laughter before it’s already escaped.

Well fuck. He can only think of one person who’d happily name their children after potioneers. Especially those particular potioneers.

“This is hardly ideal for us,” Zosimo Lestrange (the younger twin, his youngest child from the future) says with a bland smile on his face. They both act utterly at home in Dartmoor’s potions lab, Zosimo sitting on one of the unused tables with his legs swinging back and forth, Menesthes rooting through the shelves and clicking his tongue at every missing ingredient he doesn’t find. Caelum is torn between barking at him to stop nosing around and asking just what the brat is looking for.

That he opens the draws labelled basilisk scales and scowls (as if he expected to find the near priceless ingredient in abundance within the container) is the final straw.

“You think I want the two of you here?” Caelum snaps, scowling harder when Zosimo throws his head back and laughs, wild and delighted.

“You never want us around when you’re brewing seriously,” Menesthes drawls, closing another draw with a scoff, tilting his head back and over his shoulder to fire a dry smile at him. “It’s the only time we’re not allowed to bother you. Family agreement.” And despite himself—

“Family agreement?” Caelum repeats with a raised brow, watching the two twins share a look and yeah, that’s going to get annoying real fast.

“Yep.” Zosimo pops the ‘p’ of the word, flexing his lips before stretching them up in a lazy going smile, the kind that has never come naturally to Caelum. “We don’t bother you or Mum when one of you is doing serious brewing, you both don’t bother us when we’re spell crafting.” The kid has the nerve to properly grin now, a gleam of straight teeth and a flash of bright blue eyes and a chill races down Caelum’s spine. Holy fuck, he was wrong. This one isn’t the least dangerous one at all. He’d just assumed the cool calculation of the eldest meant he was the one to watch. But no, there’s a light to this one’s eyes that reminds him uncomfortably of Bellatrix now. Great; that’s the absolute last thing he’d want any child of his to inherit. At least the Black madness seems somewhat well directed... maybe.

“What now?” Menesthes asks, as if the glimmer of his brother’s unhinged attitude is of no pressing concern. To him it probably isn’t, not if he’s lived with it for all his days. By Merlin, how the fuck is Caelum supposed to raise that into a semi-functioning member of society?

“Mother said Lord Riddle would solve it,” Caelum states, the taste of both addresses bitter on his tongue. The twin scoffs both of his future children produce are as loud as they are disdainful.

“Ol’ Snake Face,” Zosimo grumbles, voice like thunder and unbothered as his brother swats him across the back of the head.

“You know the rules; it’s Riddle unless Mum’s here. Then we get to call him as many names as we want.” Menesthes leans over the workbench that Zosimo is sitting on, fingers drumming across the tabletop. He pauses after the third tap, eyeing Caelum with a hard frown. It’s his expression but it sure as fuck doesn’t fit that mouth. “Mum and Riddle still haven’t settled their differences by the way.”

As if that should mean anything to him.

Only, it does. Because there’s only one woman he knows who has a bone to pick with Riddle and the balls to do it. It’s the final nail in the coffin though, the stopper in the vial, the rune on the ward. There’s going to be some monumental fuck up in the future and Caelum Lestrange is apparently going to marry Harriet Potter and have twins. Fucking hell.

“Riddle and- and your mother-” He can’t bring himself to say it out loud yet, he really can’t. “-talk often enough for you to know that.”

Zosimo stares at him, head cocked to a side and looking remarkably birdlike with his feathered black curls and wide blue eyes. He’s a bit of a runt- they both are really. Can’t be his genes at work there; Caelum’s tall and refined. He knows from looking at Regulus’ old yearbooks that Lord Potter didn’t shoot up to his beanstalk height until Seventh year though.

“Oh, right. Hasn’t happened yet,” the younger one mutters, scraping a hand across his face and grumbling about how ‘that’d get old fast’. Caelum can already relate. He’s tired of this whole thing already and he’s not even ten minutes into the whole ‘go look after your future children while we try and fail to solve the issue’. As usual, another Bellatrix cock up there. He’d been happy to get away from Riddle’ piercing gaze anyway that he hadn’t even tried to fight it.

“Mum and Riddle solve the Fade issue about-” Menesthes pauses, waving his hand to casually summon up the date in a flex of wandless magic Caelum certainly hadn’t been capable of at his age. “-a year from now. A year and a week to be precise.”

“And everyone throws them a big annual party for it so they both have to attend every single year and act like they wouldn’t rip each other’s throats out if they thought they could get away with it,” Zosimo says with a light chuckle, folding forwards to rest his elbows on his knees, dropping his head into his hands and grinning all the while.

He’s not even sure where to start there; the improbability (and the hope) of the Fade being solved, or the fact Potter doesn’t have a vicious enough bone in-

No, scrap that. Potter definitely has the guts to tear out Riddle’s jugular if he pushes her into enough of a corner and Riddle hates her enough to do it. Perhaps the biggest shock is they even managed to work together long enough to solve a problem. Of course, said problem is the biggest issue that has been haunting their society in living memory, but still.

Merlin, this is almost too much to handle. Almost. Because Caelum isn’t out of options here.

After all, it takes two to reproduce.


	2. Chapter 2

Hands in the pockets of the skinny jeans Alphie had given him for his last birthday, Menesthes follows after the much younger version of his father, keeping one keen eye on Zosimo’s cheery form.

They’ve been in the past for all of two hours, one of which they’d spent sneaking around Dartmoor trying to figure out what was going on (what they’d cocked up on enough in their spell-crafting to land them in a time that clearly wasn’t their own), and the other they’d spent in the company of their much too young father. He’d be, what, twenty-one now? Which makes Mum seventeen. That’s only six years older than them at present. Discomforting.

“Lot of stuff missing,” Zosimo mutters as they stride out of the Leaky and into Diagon instead. While it’s blatantly obvious that such a thing would be true, Menesthes has to agree. Father cocks a look over his shoulder, still so much taller than them even now in the past; it makes sense. He’s twenty-one, the average wizard stops growing at nineteen once the body catches up with the magic. He’s past the point where he’d stop growing but, some childish part of Menesthes had hoped. Not important right now though.

While not particularly worried about the time-stream (if they weren’t meant to be here, they’d have been unable to manage it, playing with faulty time-sand or not), there is a part of him that is hesitant to see their Mother as she is now. Chances are good that, when they return to their own time, the memories of their visit here will catch up with their parents and then they will be in trouble. Still, something to consider later. Survival here first. After all, unlike their parents existing in the future, the survival of himself and Zosimo isn’t guaranteed by future children coming back to speak to them.

“Are we going to the Potion Guild?” It’s the logical guess; a place both of their parents frequent during their pre-relationship time and with enough resources to attempt solving this problem. Plus, it’s a welcome reprieve from any environment that Riddle is likely to show up in. The enemy of my mother shall always be distrusted and all that; Menesthes wouldn’t trust the man as far as he could throw him and that is without the full story of how thoroughly he’d screwed his Mother’s life over before she started ironing out some of societies flaws. It’s a work in progress. Menesthes only pays attention to it all because it’s his Mother working on it (alongside her potions thing and all the stuff she does in the Lower Alleys too; thank god he got her time management skills and not Zosimo. No doubt his brother would be much further along in his schemes if that were the case). 

Both Zosimo and Menesthes are aware they live in a lap of luxury, thank you very much. But, with the exposure to the Lower Alleys they’ve had, neither of them are ignorant to the issues that plague their society, both at the top and the bottom. 

“Yes,” Father hisses out through clenched teeth, looking them over again and Menesthes offers him Calm Smile #2 with a pinch of Reassuring Eyebrow Lift #3. It settles his ruffled feathers, though the suspicious glare remains. Yeah, too much exposure to Mum by now to get rid of that with just a facial expression. “Now stop drawing attention to yourselves.”

“With these faces,” Zosimo declares, gesturing to the refined features in question with an exaggerated flourish of his hands, “that is quite impossible.” And then, like the absolute brat he is, he flings a smile and a wink at the nearest girl close to their age. She blushes (so she should) and hides a giggle behind her hand. Menesthes collars his brother before their young father loses his admittedly short temper. Well, he’s assuming his temper is horrible now; the Caelum Lestrange in this present hasn’t had the privilege of witnessing their antics form from their toddling years. He won’t be used to them and won’t allow the usual amount of leeway with that expressions of begrudging fondness he wears so well. That irritated smile of ‘you’re both brats but your my brats so that makes you the best fucking brats there is but by Merlin, do not test me’. Yeah, that’s not there yet. 

Instead, it’s some strange hybrid of what could be and then ‘you’re brats that I’m not supposed to be in charge of but have been left with; do I tell you off or throw you to the people you belong to’. It’s the usual face he wears whenever Alphie comes over. 

“Regardless, we want as little questioning authority figures as possible,” Menesthes says, flicking Zosimo’s ear as he steers his brother to falling into step with their father. “It’s bad enough that Riddle knows we’re here.” 

“Ol’ Snake Face,” Zosimo agrees and, before Menesthes can correct him again on that particular term of address (because the man, for all his faults, does not have the appearance of a snake), waves aggressively to someone a little further down the street. “Look, it’s Mum!” 

Following his brother’s line of sight, Menesthes sucks in a sharp, harsh breath.

Zosimo is right, it is mum, younger and less refined than he’s ever seen her, all vicious swirling magic with the crowd unconsciously parting around her for it. Of course, she’s still black listed by all SOW Party families and, if Menesthes is recalling correctly, will still be barred from half the upper-crust establishments on Diagon. 

Their loss. 

It takes a half second for Mum to spot them in return, not difficult given Zosimo’s ridiculous over-eagerness to flag her down. The only reason he’s not taken off towards her is because Menesthes has a good grip on his arm. 

Father looks scandalised. 

“If it’s not already clear, Mum’s his favourite.” The offending scoff that Father makes is music to his ears.

Menesthes releases his hold on Zosimo, allowing the other to clear the short distance between them and Mother before following after him at a much more sedated pace. All the while, his eyes scan Mother’s form, searching for any discrepancies from the history he knows. Being the son of such a famous woman, it’d only been logical to find out as much as he possibly could about her life, from secondary sources and from asking the woman herself. Mum is always willing to answer his questions, to talk through her past and what happened and, most importantly of all, why she made the choices she did. It’s why he can look at her now and know she’s been practising free-duelling this morning from the dirt in her hair and the sand on her tunic. It’s why he can feel her magic brush against his and know she’s brewed a half-dozen of Protection Potion because the after-spell is lingering against the edges of the magic that is both familiar and not at the same time.

At seventeen, she won’t yet have found a way to stuff Dom and Zuriel into their own golems. That’ll be what the odd flavour to her magic is. It’s strange, like biting into a chocolate frog but getting a splash of butterbeer flavouring thrown in too; an unexpected surprise. It’s familiar enough for him to all but melt into the magical embrace though. 

“Caelum,” Mum greets with a not-quite hesitant smile, eyes scanning both Zosimo and Menesthes. “I didn’t know you had younger siblings.”

“I don’t.”

“We had a time accident,” Zosimo declares, all but throwing himself into Mum’s arms and pressing his face against her shoulder, utterly unbothered by the way everyone and their mother are now staring at them. The hot flush that burns across the back of Menesthes’ neck is no doubt a similar shade to the red Father’s ears are turning. “We’re nearly twenty years in the past and we’re going to be in so much trouble when we get home.” 

“I see,” Mum states, still looking quite unsure of how to handle the sudden armful of son she has, especially given he’s not that much shorter than her. Magically imposing Mum may be, but particularly tall she is not. Then, she looks at Father, instantly connecting the blatantly obvious facial features they share. “Twins is lucky. Congratulations.”

* * *

He just, doesn’t have the words. 

Potter stands with both arms not quite held aloft in surrender, but extended enough to avoid hugging the younger brat. She’s not pushing him away though. Maybe, much alike Dartmoor’s wards, Potter’s ferocious magic recognises family. Or maybe she’s not feeling particularly on edge today, despite being hugged by a stranger who is now nuzzling his face into her shoulder. Fucking favourite indeed. He doesn’t know whether he should be pleased (brat with Black madness doesn’t appear to be primarily his problem) or disgruntled (one of the brats blatantly favours Potter over him; poor taste). 

For a single moment, he considers shuffling the lot of them away to somewhere more private to have this discussion. But then, what does it matter if this is the inevitable? Everyone will know one way or another in the future when the two brats before him start running wild (fuck, he’s got who knows how many years to prepare himself, like fuck if he’s going to be a parent as useful as marshmallow sap in Wheezer's Relief; yes he can learn). 

“In that case, congratulations are in order for you too, Potter. Twins are lucky, so I hear.” 

He wonders just what unavoidable disaster happens to ensnare him into becoming Potter’s other half. Does he become one of the many life debts she’s collected in another string of misadventures and Potter decides that’s the ideal way for him to repay? Does Riddle resurrect that dreaded marriage law with a few nasty clauses to force him into it? It can’t be a drunken one night stand; she has only ever drunk milk or water when they’ve dined out and he’s always vanished alcoholic beverages for the sake of remaining sober. Though, if twins truly is what lays in his future, that can soon change. 

Though it appears he has finally, finally caught Potter off guard. Her eyebrows are up, her bright eyes round and her lips are parted. And yeah, that mouth is the exact same one the brats have. There’s no getting away from it; while the twins take after him in the vast majority of their physical appearance (some good luck on their part, Potter isn’t hard on the eyes, but she’s hardly at level with Caelum, though it is a sight better than her disguised appearance was), that mouth is all Potter. 

“Pardon?”

“We’re both boys, if that wasn’t obvious,” Zosimo, the younger brat, whispers, finally stepping back so that Potter can get a good look at him, Menesthes striding forward to stand beside him. The sight of it is jarring. He can remember standing before his own parents, freshly returned from Durmstrang for the first time and ready for their inspection. To see if he had grown enough, to see if he was finally worthy of their regard and affection. That’d been the last time he stood around waiting so blatantly for it. Somehow, he doesn’t think either of the boys before him will have ever had to look to their mother and wonder if she thinks them good enough. Potter’s probably the type to love her offspring no matter how unimpressive they are. That these two are so blatantly accomplished spell crafters at the tender age of eleven will only make that easier for her.

He ignores the pang in his chest with the ease of well grown practise. 

“All the other eligible women must have set their sights too low,” Caelum drawls, eyes sweeping upwards in an exaggerated roll. Parkinson is practically engaged to his cousin by now, Davis is a simpering ninny he wouldn’t so much as look at twice, Delacour isn’t human enough, Shafiq has less magic than a house-elf; quite frankly, it’s no wonder none of them had considered making an attempt to catch Caelum’s eye. They’re all horrendous choices. For all that Potter is a halfblood, everything else about her is tolerable. And clearly something is going to happen that pushes them together that he can’t avoid. So, what’s the point in fight it? 

“But I’m not planning on having any children?” Potter says, though it’s a low and quiet thing, whispered only to herself for all that the three of them can hear it. She still regards both Mensethes and Zosimo with a warm if confused smile even after that admission, the one Caelum is still trying to wrap his head around. What the hell does she mean she doesn’t plan on having children; she’s the Heir to the Potter family, she doesn’t have a choice in the matter. If anything, she should be thrilled she got a second child from one pregnancy. That’s her own house covered for another generation with an heir too. It’s as efficient as he’s come to expect of Potter. 

Even aggressively blacklisted by anything and anyone so much as related to the SOW Party, she doesn’t seem to have any issues going about living her life. Given the Aldermaster has already spoken in support of her a year prior during her trial, the only thing she probably gives a fuck about has already proven to be in her corner. 

“Plans evidentially change, Potter.” Just like his plans for the next few days. Merlin, he just wanted to bask in his hard earned mastery, having waited the appropriate amount of years before submitting his thesis because he sure as fuck wasn’t about to risk anything less that utter perfection with it. He should have Potter hanging off his arm asking for insider information that is now open to his certified fingers. 

Instead, he’s got two brats to sort and Potter to inform. 

As if reading his mind (he wouldn’t put it past her), Potter runs a hand through her still too short hair. “Maybe we should take his discussion somewhere else.” 


	3. Chapter 3

Now that he’s a certified Master, Caelum can book them into a room at the Potions Guild without any questions being asked. Harry follows along with her head high, unbothered by the way eyes trails after her, deep rooted suspicion in their gaze. It is something she has grown used to over the years now, just another unfortunate aspect of her life. She still does not regret the choices she’s made, even if it’d come with a year-long grounding, bans from many prominent shops given her lack of ‘serious punishment’ in the eyes of the SOW aligned owners, and other such sanctions. Harry isn’t too bothered by it; Tate doesn’t turn her away and her potions are too good for the Serpents Storeroom to ever turn her away, even if Krait gave a flying fuck about what she’d been getting up to in the world of Lords and Ladies. He’d just been pleased to know he wasn’t the only one she’d fooled into thinking she was a boy.

Speaking of being fooled-

Harry flicks her gaze to the duo of boys that are trailing after Caelum, much alike ducklings following after a parent, which he apparently is, if they’re to be believed. Who she will become a parent to, if they are being truthful. Looking upon their faces, she can see the resemblance, hidden beneath the great swath of Lestrange’s everything. The most prominent feature is her mouth (she cannot recall Caelum’s mouth ever twisting up into that slightly lopsided, easy smile, not that it is exactly a familiar expression on her own face either) but there are other characteristics that can be picked out if one looks closely. The slight upturn of the nose, the curve of the hairline, the ever so slightly softer edge to their jawlines. Barely noticeable unless you’ve looked at the original enough to pin-point the differences. Which is, quite frankly, a cause for concern. She hadn’t realised she had given so much attention to Caelum’s face until now, presented with a mirrored distortion.

Harry reaches out with her magic, letting it curl around the two boys. The most telling thing is that their tense shoulders relax almost instantly upon the contact, the visual registering before her own magic confirms they are not under the effects of any appearance altering potion. She did, after all, invent the Super-Polyjuice.

“Good ol’ Room Seventeen,” the boy who’d introduced himself as Zosimo declares, stepping inside and stretching his arms over his head. He’s relatively tall for an eleven-year-old, though still shorter than Harry herself, but there’s a glint to his eyes that makes her, well, not quite nervous, but something that veers close to the idea of it. Within her mindscape, Dom pays rapt attention and she wonders what he makes of this whole situation. Undoubtedly, it will be another new one to him; that is all she seems to be capable of creating in her own life. Situations where millennia old rocks have never found themselves to be, but are enjoying all the same.

“Potter, you’ve got to take them.” Both boys hiss in outrage as Caelum doesn’t so much as offer them a choice, just gesturing to them with a sweep of his free hand, the other occupied by his wand as he erects silencing wards.

“Pardon?”

“They can’t stay with me,” Caelum sneers with his mouth, but his eyes tell a different story, indicating that he is deeply disturbed by the question. It is at this point the other, the one who has not yet introduced himself (though, given the name of his brother, Harry can make a relatively sure guess of what his name is regardless) gives a hum of agreement.

“Mum wouldn’t be pleased if we were to spend any more time in Riddle’s presence,” he muses, taking up a seat by the workbench and folding his arms primly across his chest. With the contemplating frown on his face, the suckerpunch of resemblance between herself and the boy that is most probably called Menesthes hits Harry with far too much force. In the very least, she’s not alone in that; Caelum too looks between the boy and her, disgruntlement written into every contour of his face. Given the feel of their magic and the way they look, Harry cannot exactly deny the fact they are related. It is a little jarring, to have not even considered romance with anyone as a serious option but to still have her future children dropped upon her from the future. Though, should she actually come to marry Caelum, the outcome of twins is ideal. It solves the Potter heir problem without involving Addy.

True, in the past she’d been rather certain that she’d be leaving the Potter line to her little sister but, now that said sister is walking around and talking and proving herself to be a genuine person, it makes her feel a little bad to be dropping that impending weight on her shoulders. Harry hadn’t pictured herself the marrying type, despite knowing that Riddle was venomously pushing for it. The last she’d heard of him, he’d been determined to lobby her to the Malfoys, to pair her off with Draco, ensuring the continuation of the Malfoy line and tying her intimately to one of his greatest supporters.

She hasn’t spoken to Draco since her last day as Rigel.

Not that it apparently matters, given it seems she will be pairing herself up with Caelum Lestrange. Harry knows herself enough to recognise that, if she didn’t want something, she would never allow it to happen. Which means, against all odds, she has a happy future with her fellow potioneer ahead of her.

“I still don’t like Riddle?” Harry asks, ignoring the way Caelum splutters (his family are SOW supporters and, most damningly of all, his mother is Bellatrix; it’s probably akin to blasphemy to call him anything but a Lord) in order to focus her attentions on Menesthes. She’s not entirely surprised by his statement, but there’s a small part of her that wants to know, that wants to grasp the hints and the clues of a future not yet visible to her so that she can start preparing. Especially if she and Riddle are still so blatantly at odds that her twin eleven-year-old children can see it.

“Oh yeah,” Zosimo cuts in, a slash of a smile on his lips as he shamelessly leaps up onto the potions bench, one leg even curled up to his chest so the sole of his boot (brewing boots, Harry is hopelessly proud to note) can rest on the table edge. “It’s a running joke in the family, especially ‘round the time of the eradicated Fade celebration where you both have to make nice with each other.”

So, they solve the Fade issue. That’s nice to know. She wonders if Archie manages to make any progress on Regulus’ curse in the future too; part of her wants to ask, wants to know if her cousin manages to achieve his latest goal, but she stops down on the need to ask. Not while Caelum is here, not when he may not know and this could reduce Regulus’ standing in the eyes of Heir Lestrange. An arsehole Regulus Black may be, but he’s something of a friend to Leo, so she won’t push.

“Enough about that,” Caelum snaps, arms folded across his chest and a grumpy frown on his lips, his eyes focusing in on her after he’s done flicking a quick look over the two boys. “They’re not just my responsibility and it’d be better if they stayed with you.” Of course. Riddle does not have access to Potter Place and, even if he showed up on the doorstep asking nicely to come in, her father is much more likely to curse him than welcome him, no matter what gifts, honeyed words, or sweet promises he came offering. Though, that does bring her onto the additional problem with that part of Caelum’s plan.

“My dad will hit the roof,” Harry states. Pure fact; James Potter is not known for his calm manner whenever the topic of Harriet Potter and dating comes up in conversation. She can just imagine how well the introduction of these two boys will go.

“You think my mother will react any better when she realises who exactly contributed to the other half of the brats’ genetics?”

“Mum had to curse Granatrix last time we saw her,” Zosimo proudly declares, a wicked little smile to his lips that’s certainly never and expression Harry has ever seen upon Caelum’s face, nor is it one she’d have ever had on her own. She’s relatively sure her lips don’t even know how to cure up in that manner. She’s not sure which element of that clause she wants to focus on; the concept of Bellatrix Lestrange as a grandmother, or the fact she’s cursed the woman with the twins standing as witness. Given that Caelum is mouthing the noun with a deeply disturbed look upon his face, he’s as… discombobulated by this entire situation as she is. It certainly is a good thing that they have arrived after the ruse has already fallen through. Her twin sons appearing and blowing that up would have gone down even worse than what had actually happened.

“That’s exactly why you need to house them.” Having recovered enough from that sudden statement, Caelum now eyes the quieter of the two boys, a look of deep suspicion in his blue eyes. As if wondering just why he’s not making more of a menace of himself. Perhaps, for anyone else, a quiet child would be a blessing. But, described as a quiet child herself, Harry knows exactly how much trouble someone can get up to.

For a brief moment, she entertains the idea of taking the two to her little flat in Dogwood; it’s still heavily warded and Leo would be able to help the two boys should anything come up. However, the Lower Alleys don’t have the loud protection that comes with being a registered household in which a Lord lives. For all that her dad will be most upset with the current situation, at least they would be protected until they could return to their own timeline. While she wouldn’t put it past Riddle to darken her door, she’s also certain he cannot secretly kidnap the two boys in the middle of the night to be used as leverage of some kind against her. And he would, oh, she just knows he would.

When she refocuses herself, Harry finds Caelum is still staring, but now he’s staring at her. His dark hair is perfectly styled, as always, and is eyes intent. It’s the thinking face she’s come to recognise from their brewing sessions, the one where he’s stirring an idea in the cauldron that is his head, twisting and turning until it’s formed enough to reveal to the masses. Harry waits patiently, all the while looking Caelum over herself. He’s always been particularly pleasant to look at, and the attitude has come a long way from that first meeting they’d had at the Gala. But, there’s a difference between improvements in character and liking someone enough to want to share a house and family with one another. Nonetheless, something must evolve between them in the next few years in order for two children to be produced from their relationship. Certainly, it won’t be Riddle’s damning marriage law. A law that won’t even come to fruition given they are apparently going to solve the Fade together. Now _that_ is good news.

Well, if she is going to marry, at least it’s to someone who understands the call of the cauldron.

“You’re both staring at each other,” Menesthes drawls, snapping his fingers before Caelum’s face with a bored expression draped finely across his features. He’s mature, more contained than his brother and Harry concludes that comes from her. Though he showcases a very convincing ‘I don’t give a fuck what you think’, Harry is well aware of just how easy it is to wind Caelum up. One only needs to mention fish and luck in the same sentence to produce a twitch if she’s in the same general vicinity as him.

“Trying to figure out how the fuck I ended up married to Potter.”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Zosimo leaps off of the workbench, bouncing over to stand beside her with a great big smile on his face. That expression on a face so close to Caelum’s is almost spell-binding by how very absurd it is. “Mum’s the greatest witch of our time. Why wouldn’t you want to marry her?” And, while that’s nice to hear (that blind faith in a parent from her own child is surprisingly touching), the fact she’s not just regarded as a potioneer but as a ‘witch’ implies she’s been forced to exhibit everything she is magically capable of. Otherwise, Zosimo would just address her as a potioneer. And true, everyone knows Rigel Black’s triumphs are hers, but they’ve never actually seen Harry Potter produce a ‘miracle of magic’. It’s easy to forget what Rigel had been capable of when she wears a different face. That she will come to be thought of as ‘the greatest witch’ (though she dearly hopes that is just a child admiring their parent) is worrying.

“Yes, yes, she’s a brilliant halfblood,” Caelum grunts, waving his hand through the air, as if to physically bat the words that have just been forced out from between his clenched teeth. “But that means the Lestrange Heir is less pure.”

“What does that matter?” Menesthes asks, tone cool. He continues before Caelum gets a chance to respond. “For those that care, we are technically purebloods. Besides, Neither I nor Zosimo would allow anyone’s perceived notions to stop us from achieving our full potential. That’s what you always told us, anyway.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more a transition chapter than anything else & apologies for mistakes

There has been a heavy kind of pressure hanging around his neck the entire day. James isn’t quite sure where it’s coming from, isn’t quite sure exactly what is waiting for him in the near future, but there’s something that is making his skin crawl and his magic churn. It’s the kind of premonition that come before something which will cause an upset in his life. Not to the extent of the ruse reveal (Merlin, he cannot think of anything that could possibly terrify him more than that), but significant enough that he’s gonna be feeling this one. Whatever it is.

So he continues on with his day, looking over his shoulder every half an hour and smiling gingerly at his co-workers. He’s heard nothing form Lily and Addy’s last check-up with the healers had gone incredibly well; she didn’t even get diagnosed with the Potter eyesight which is a bonus. And yet, the feeling persists. It sits heavy in the hollow of his ribcage, nestled somewhere beneath his stomach as he continues on with his day. Given he’s had the early shift, he’s off for five on the dot. There’ll be no venturing into nights with additional overtime today; Tonks and Murphy have just arrived to relieve him, after all.

Still, as he leaves the Ministry and makes for Diagon, there’s something building in the back of his head and James keeps a sharp eye on his surroundings. It truly does feel like something is lying in wait, like something has bloomed into existence in the last few hours that is going to make life exceptionally unpleasant for him.

Nothing jumps out at him from the shadows of the streets; no hags wander about the entrance to Knockturn, no suspicious characters pass him by- not even a member of the SOW Party is present to give him a dirty look. One James would happily return. They can be as pissed as they want at Harry but if they even so much as make a move against her.

James is well aware he’s only just about hung onto his job because of his close proximity with the Minister and willingness to prove he knew nothing about Harry’s ruse via Veritaserum. That doesn’t mean he wouldn’t throw it away in a heartbeat to defend his eldest. Harry has made a lot of mistakes in her life so far (something he still boggles over; he’d thought his actions as a teenager has been the worst the Potter family would ever experience but by Merlin was he wrong); he’s sure that the worst of it is behind her.

He really, truly wishes he hadn’t thought that a half hour later, striding out of his floo into the living room, where two miniature Lestranges are waiting for him.

* * *

She doesn’t have much choice but to take her… future offspring home. Admittedly, Caelum had come to her with every intention of leaving the two in her care, but he doesn’t actually duck out on her without so much as a word. He scoffs, grumbles, but then he’s called away by a paper aeroplane that Master Whitaker summons him with. With how close said potions master is to the Lestranges family, it wouldn’t surprise Harry to learn he’s been contacted by Bellatrix on a way to send the twins back. That, or to reveal the identity of their mother. Which, for her continued good health is probably best kept under wraps. If Harry is referring to her own good health or to Bellatrix’s, she’s not too sure.

It is… strange to look upon these two children, children who are not even a decade younger than her, and know that they are her future offspring. It’s one thing to have considered having children in the future, a thought she’d only taken seriously the past year when, upon playing tea-party with Addy, her little sister has stuck her nose up and declared babies to be ‘icky’.

That James had overheard and wiped a proud tear from his eye is something both she and Lily had ignored.

It’s another thing entirely for her magic to reach out and curl around the two, to claim them as hers. Watching their thin shoulders relax into the feeling only certifies it; they’re well used to her magic, recognise it as a comforting presence. By some twist of fate, she and Caelum Lestrange get together and have twins.

Sitting back in her favourite armchair, Harry watches the two boys inspect Potter Place, recognition evident on their faces but their eyes keep getting caught on the odd thing that’s either present or missing. Yes, she supposes her parents’ house does look different to what they are used to. Harry cannot imagine not taking the two to her childhood home for family dinners other such events. She wonders how Caelum deals with the Potter-Black-Lupin unit and they’ strong ties to one another. Maybe he mellows out a little more in the future?

“So, where’s Gran and Pops?” Zosimo asks, inspecting a childhood picture of Harry so close that his breath fogs the glass it’s contained within. The Harry within continues to wave, utterly obliviously to her future son staring her down.

“Working, I imagine. I know Remus has Addy.”

“Ah, Aunt Addy. She’ll be, what, five now?”

“Four,” Harry corrects, planting one elbow on her knee and her cheek onto her closed fist, watching the two boys take a seat each on the couch. Menesthes crosses one leg over the other, looking perfectly respectable. Zosimo huffs before adopting the same posture, though the tenseness to his form indicates he’s far from practised in this.

‘ _Only you would have your future offspring visit from the future._ ’ And, well, she can’t quite disagree with Dom in the slightest. This does seem to have become the tone for her life now. She’d only wanted to learn potions, not having upset after upset occur each and every year. At least the yearly disaster is occurring before she even goes off to school this time. No matter how monumental this is.

Caelum Lestrange? Really? On one hand, she can see a comfortable life of brewing beside each other, of creating potions and new brewing techniques and a fair amount of banter in her future. On the other, he’s still waist deep in the concept of pureblood supremacy. Or, he was the last she spoke to him on the topic. Maybe it’s time to broach that again, it has been a while, hasn’t it?

Whatever else Harry is going to consider is lost to her when the fire flares a bright green and, instead of Lily, James Potter steps out and dusts off his Auror robes. Oh. He’d had the morning shift, hadn’t he? Well, there’s little else for it.

“Welcome back, Dad,” Harry greets.

“Harry,” James says, though he is looking solely at the Lestrange twins, lips parted and clearly too confused to say much of anything at all. And, really, it’s probably best to just down the potion in one go here.

“This is Menesthes and Zosimo Lestrange. They’ve had an accident with time magic and have ended up here. Caelum can’t look after them because Riddle is already trying to stick his nose in so they’re here instead.” There, that covers the basics. Aside from the fact- “Oh, I’m also their future mother.”

The noise that crawls out of James’ throat is something more akin to a sound Sirius would make. No, not even that. It is a Padfoot sound, a high-pitched whine of distress and Harry patiently waits to see the outcome. Only, James just continues to stare at the Lestrange twins and they stay back, both with the innocent curiosity she’d once worn so well on Rigel Black’s face. Yes, there is no denying the fact they are her future children.

At least she gets it all out of the way for both Caelum and Addy in one pregnancy; a Lestrange heir and a Potter heir. Maybe she uses a potion to ensure there’s two of them. It would be rather like her to not leave things to chance and surely it cannot be that hard to create a potion to encourage the sex cells to interact in such a way twins are created.

“Is Pops alright?” More whimpering.

Menesthes hums, shaking his head. “I would suggest not.”

And that is the point when Lily returns.

“Neither of you are interested in potions?”

Sitting up to the kitchen table, Harry levels a glance at the two boys, trying to comprehend just where future Caelum and Harry have gone oh so wrong. For one of their children to not like potions, well, it’s a distinct possibility. But for both of them to have no interest at all? That doesn’t seem quite right.

Zosimo grins, happily accepting a plate of sandwiches from Lily with a pleasant thank you, prompting a warm head-ruffle from her mother. Sure, both of Harry’s parents are as startled as Harry herself is by their very sudden appearance (along with all the implications that come with the surprise visit) but they are a family well known for rolling with the punches. Admittedly, most of said punches are usually prank related, but it has been good practise for this, she supposes.

“It’s not that we aren’t interested in it, it’ s a pretty cool topic. We just like spells better. Menesthes leans more to charms, but I’m more for defence. These are great by the way, Grams.”

“I hope we keep you just as well fed in the future,” Lily says after a moment’s pause, no doubt to take in that new term of address. Yea, if Harry weren’t even in her forties yet she’d be pretty discomforted by being addressed as ‘Grams’ too, time-travelling grandchildren or not.

“Oh yeah. Menesthes is over all the time; you’ve even taught him how to cook.”

“It’s stupid to have to rely on anyone for anything if you are capable of doing it yourself,” Menesthes states soundly, unfolding his crossed arms in order to reach for a sandwich of his own. He takes a decisive bite, offers a smile to Lily, and then continues. “If there were ever anything that affected the house-elves, from a rebellion to a plague, then there are hundreds of witches and wizards who would be unable to care for themselves in the most basic manner and I refuse to be one of them. One should always be prepared for anything.”

Wow. And Harry thought _she_ was paranoid.

“Moody’d love you,” James blurts out all of a sudden, his cheeks turning red a moment after the words have escaped. “You know, if you weren’t a Lestrange.”

Both twins snicker, returning to the sandwiches as they continue to eat and Harry feels something in her stomach squirm as she considers the duo again. It’s clear that Zosimo is the most socially outgoing of the two, a little wilder, a little freer than Harry would ever have allowed herself to be. She’s certainly never seen Caelum exhibit such behaviours either and, as children are products of their environment, then this attitude is solely down to the ways in which the twins have been raised. Though she would not speak it aloud to avoid James’ snickering, she rather agrees with Menesthes too. He might be paranoid but, paranoia is what allowed Harry to carry the ruse of Rigel so far. It is her paranoia that has saved her life on multiple occasions, as well as the lives of some others. She could hardly fault the boy, even if the concept of a house-elf rebellion seems… fictitious.

And yet, she can see elements of herself and Caelum within the two, not including Caelum’s physical everything that they have. The way Menesthes holds the glass of orange juice is reminisce of the way Caelum holds his wine glass at the balls she’s attended (well, prior to the full ruse reveal). The way Zosimo runs his hand through his hair, leaving a trail of breadcrumbs near his hairline is an action she herself has undertaken several times before also.

Their magic too; it (for lack of better description) tastes similar to her own. If she’d have to guess though, Zosimo is an air core, while Menesthes is water, probably tinged with ice. Though it could just as easily be water vapour.

“You’re eleven and developing spells?” Lily asks, taking a seat at the head of the table, the one James has left unoccupied. They have a good hour or so before Remus shows up with Addy, so that is an hour to get to know Harry’s future children. Does it look like an interrogation to them? Harry sits back in her seat, relaxing as much as her limbs can manage.

“What, like it’s hard?”

“Not out yet,” Menesthes cuts in, flicking his brother’s ear in a shallow reprimand that has Zosimo huffing at him. “He’s referencing a muggle movie. Aunt Hermione had it on the last time we were over.”

“Aunt Hermione?”

“Oh yeah,” Zosimo chimes, directing a grin at James in answer to his question. “Uncle Archie marries her well before Mum and Father get their shi- act together. We’ve got cousin Cassie, Alphie, Licorus and Pollie.”

“Licorus gets grumpy if we don’t call him by his full name, but the others are all cool with nicknames.”

Archie is going to get with Hermione and do his damn best to repopulate the House of Black apparently. Four children that’s- that’s a lot. Harry can comprehend her own need for two, one for Caelum’s family and one for her own (though in truth, she must have wanted to children for the sake of having children; she cannot see herself even in the future having children that she does not want even if it were to keep the family line going). But four? Especially when Hermione doesn’t have a family legacy to carry on? Then again, maybe Archie just wants a big family. Yeah, she could see that. Alphie is probably Alphard, Cassie no doubt Cassiopeia. Is Pollie named for Pollux Black? He had been the last Black to use the potions laboratory; Harry remembers finding his notes when she was scavenging for usable ingredients years and years ago.

“Four grandchildren; Sirius will be thrilled.”

“And lumped with babysitting duty,” James points out, though the look he sends the two time-travellers is significantly warmer now that he has finally overcome his shock. “Either of you fly much?”


	5. Chapter 5

Menesthes loops lazily through the air, circling the gardens of Potter Place on Mum’s not so ancient Firebolt. He’s a natural in the air, has the Potter gene for it unlike Zosimo. Yeah, they’re identical twins, no, they’re not good at the same things. He’s quite happy keeping his feet firmly on the ground, thank you very much. Well, at least until he cracks flying unaided like Ol’ Snake Face managed. Then it’s all over for those bitches.

“He’s good,” Grams says with a small smile, Pops’s beside her and looking pleased as punch that he’s got one grandchild who flies like a falcon. Eh, Zosimo’s not too bothered about it. Menesthes can keep his affinity for flying; Zosimo’s going to tear through the duelling circuits (legal or illegal, he doesn’t care, he’’ll rip ‘em all to shreds) the moment he’s old enough. Or the moment he can slink out from under Mum’s watchful eye. Hey, he knows his chances are slim but a boy can hope, can’t he? She’s the one who’s been teaching him duelling anyway, her and Uncle Leo. Father’s well aware of it- doesn’t approve, but he’s aware. He especially doesn’t approve of the free-duelling, but Zosimo gets the feeling that’s less about the practice being illegal and more about the fact it’s not a traditional pureblood sport. Eh. As far as Zosimo is concerned, it’s a damn helpful skill, Mum does it, so why shouldn’t he? Father’s probably just bitter because he’ll never be as good as Mum, not in the way they’re both brilliant at potions. Smirking a little, he turns his attention back to Menesthes as his brother drops into a sharp dive, the kind where he’ll pull up at the last second, usually with a handful of grass to prove he had indeed gone that low, the delightful show-off that he is.

“Do you fly, Zosimo?”

Glancing over to Grams, Zosimo offers her his best grin, the sweet one that has all the old ladies cooing during those useless Galas. When he flashes this particular expression, it’s potent enough to detract from the Lestrange features; he vividly recalls Lady Longbottom even going so far as to compliment him before he’d dropped the grin and she’d dropped the amiability. “Not like Menesthes. I can produce a controlled hover with my magic-” After a few months of studying Mum’s modified weightless draft and what effects the magic within that potion was having on his body. “- but I won’t fly again until I can do it unaided.”

Grams’ eyebrows shoot up in surprise, whether at his words or the fact he can produce a controlled hover, Zosimo isn’t too sure. He doesn’t’ catch her next words though because Pops leaps to his feet, hollering as Menesthes pulls up out of his ridiculous dive with the funny name. Who needs to name these things anyway? They’re only for ducking and diving in quidditch, just do whatever comes naturally, don’t learn specific ones.

“Did you see that?!” Pops yells, gesturing to Menesthes with a wild (re. crazed) grin on his face. Huh. Maybe his _personality_ isn’t just from the Lestrange line after all. “That acceleration, that control, pulling up from a Wronski Feint that close to the ground!” Running a hand through his already wild hair, Pops takes off, shouting something about grabbing his own broom. It’s not a surprise- in fact, it’s a bit of a comfort to see. Whenever they stay over here back in their time, it usually doesn’t take long for Pops to start coaching Menesthes and, if Grams is busy with her own work, that usually leaves Zosimo unattended to get up to his own… studies. Which has become a lot easier to do in the last three or so years, what with Aunt Ads venturing off to parts unknown. Now there’s a job he wouldn’t mind doing in the future.

“I suppose I should go meet Remus with Addy,” Grams says with a sigh and a shake of her head, getting to her feet and brushing the loose grass from her skirts. Her hair, impossibly redder than what he has ever seen before, falls around her face effortlessly. Yeah, the overall Lestrange good looks with Lily Evans’ underlying genetics? It goes without saying that he was never going to be anything but utterly beautiful. “Why don’t you go find…” she trails off, unsure of how to address Mum. Which is stupid. Mum might be Mum in his head, but Grams has called her Harry in front of them loads of times. Well, not this Grams, but the point stands.

“Can do, Grams.” Snatching up his own clump of grass (and ignoring Pops as he comes racing by again, leaping onto his own broom to go and join Menesthes in the air), Zosimo cradles it in his palm for a moment as his magic seeps into the greenery. After a breath, the grass begins to rise, twisting and turning until he has a miniature woven cauldron in his palm. “She’s brewing,” he concludes, releasing the grass so it falls back to the ground. From there, he takes off towards the house with a bounce in his step and a grin on his face. The cauldron might not call to him (much to Father’s disappointment) but that doesn’t mean it isn’t interesting to watch Mum at work. Especially if he’s lucky enough that she’s free brewing.

* * *

“Where are the twins?”

It’s Riddle that asks the question and Caelum grinds his morals together, muscle in his jaw twitching but he can’t particularly hide it, doesn’t particularly care to either. Pulled out of his potions lab for an interrogation. Great. He’d been about to start a new shaped imbueding one too, not that such a thing is of importance to his family or Lord Riddle it would seem. Oh, Mother’s shouting about his abilities from the rooftop when he’s tricked into building a body for a half-blood that’d posed as a form of Lord Riddle (and hadn’t Lord Riddle been apoplectic when he learned who exactly had commissioned the potion from Caelum?). But the moment he’s experimenting for the sake of experimenting and not to further her lot in life, suddenly he can be interrupted. That she’s pushing him into impressing Lord Riddle because of her own past mistakes is beyond irritating and he’s still silently furious she managed to sucker him into getting involved with that whole mess in the first place. There’s also that lingering suspicion that the half-blood bastard is Riddle’s half-blood bastard and he’s not the only one who thinks this; no one dares breathes it aloud though. And no one can check because, after Potter had taken him down, the would be Dark Lord had disappeared. Rather like one or two of Lord Riddle’s former political opponents did in the early days actually.

Caelum tips his head to a side, frowning. He can’t exactly lie in response to this question, not after flouting through Diagon with the brats and Potter herself.

“With Harriet Potter.”

“Why?” Unlike his mother’s infuriated hiss and Lord Riddle’s faux-curious, polite frown, Rodolphus’ question comes out with genuine confusion. He can see the moment Lord Riddle realises it; the most interesting expression Caelum has ever witnessed crosses his face. Somewhere between terrible, selfish delight and unholy, rampant fury. His dark eyes land on Caelum, burning brighter than Fiendfyre ever could. Like he’s daring Caelum to admit the truth. Well fuck it. His mother thinks she knows what she’s doing? She helped resurrect that nutjob that had tried to carve a bloody path through their world. Lord Riddle had pushed for half-bloods to be excluded from Hogwarts and Potter had spent her entire (undercover) schooling career cleaning up his messes.

“Because she’s their mother, obviously.” It comes at as a calm drawl, nothing like he’d ever expect himself capable of producing given how thunderously loud his heart is beating; it’s a wonder they can hear his words over the sound of it. Aaaand it looks like he’s broken his mother. She’s staring, a look of the utmost disgust on her face and she’s frozen in place. Rodolphus looks disgruntled but the worst thing is the way Lord Riddle hisses something under his breath, the first obvious sign of Parseltongue that Caelum has ever seen from the man. It makes the hairs on his arm stand, makes his muscles tense with panic. What the ever loving fuck had the man just said? Yes, he knows Potter and Riddle are, to put it in as his future-son had done, fully willing to rip one another’s throats out. But this is also the man who pushed for the half-blood marriage shit. Does that mean Caelum has gone up in his estimations, or down?

“Well, this looks like fun.”

All four of them startle, swinging around to face the newcomer and fuck! It’s not a face Caelum recognises, but he sure does know those features. Those are Potter features- none of those brats had breathed a word about an older sibling! No, wait, they said they were twenty years in the past and this guy sure as fuck is over twenty. The usual Potter mess for hair, searing blue eyes that are far too dark to be compared to Caelum’s own and a chaser’s build- holy fuck! Did James Potter have an affair?

Mother, falling back and her true and tried method of reacting to surprises, flings a curse. The man casually side-steps it and walks into the room, stretching his arms above his head and rolling his shoulders.

“Now here is a face I don’t recognise,” Lord Riddle muses, wand tapping against his thigh as he considers the interloper (how the fuck had he even got into Dartmoor, nevermind snuck up on them like this?) that stops a few feet away from their little gathering. The man’s voice is laced with underlying malice and Caelum takes a pre-emptive step back. Just in case things get… explosive. “It is poor manners to not introduce yourself when you so blatantly trespass.”

“Dominic Potter,” the man reels off in a bored drawl, his voice sounding just like the last time Caelum had heard Lord James Potter speak. Only, he cannot imagine the Head Auror ever sounding that casually bored and indifferent to his surroundings. Dominic Potter’s eyes lazily analyse each of them, starting with Caelum and finishing on Lord Riddle. Unbelievably, he seems to find each of them as lacking as the one who came before. That he directs such a look at the Head of the SOW Party- is stupidity and a lack of common sense bred specifically into the Potter family? Dear Merlin, is this what he has to look forward to as his twin brats age? “I mostly go by Dom though.” Urgh, even worse, a nickname.

“A Potter bastard?” Bellatrix purrs, a look of sick delight seeping over her face as she considers the implications. Dominic just laughs, waving her words away with one hand. His eyes never leave Lord Riddle though, as if sizing him up. He’s well informed if, when faced with Rodolphus Lestrange’s surliness and Bellatrix Lestrange’s… well, everything, he still keeps his eyes on Lord Riddle.

“Look, Harry just asked me to go fishing in the timeline for her brats, so here I am.” He shrugs, as if this is of little care to him and Caelum scrunches his nose, inspecting the man again. So he is from the future, their magically older kid given he referred to Potter as name… are there any Potter cousins who slipped the big, pureblood society net? From the frown to Lord Riddle’s brows, he’s trying to determine the same thing.

“The Potter chit’s children,” Bellatrix grumbles before her brain clicks back in and she swings around to stare at Caelum. “Caelum’s children.”

A hand clamps down on Caelum’s shoulder and he swings around to look at (the irritatingly taller) Dominic Potter. Up close, there’s something… not right with those eyes. He’s older than twenty, but those eyes look like he’s seen a few thousand years go by. There’s something wrong with Dominic Potter and it doesn’t surprise Caelum in the slightest that the first thing the man did was name drop Harriet Potter. Because of course she’d be behind the latest madness- why not? It’s all she ever gets up to these days.

“Yes, those children. Elf!” Caelum doesn’t even have the chance to be utterly bamboozled by the fact Hestin answers to his call because Dominic ‘I mostly go by Dom’ Potter orders them to be apparated out.


End file.
